


When the Levee Breaks

by happybeans



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Depersonalization, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Light Angst, Really light whump, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Tony comforts Peter after he sees something terrible on the news.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 101





	When the Levee Breaks

They’re staring at him. 

Peter swallows. He huffs out a laugh through his nose. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” he says, and his voice comes out somewhat strangled. He clears his throat then says with a shrug, “I’m fine.”

“Kiddo,” Pepper starts, quietly, as she takes a step forward, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Peter says on a laugh. 

Tony doesn’t move forward, though his hands are stretched out like he wants to. “You realize you’re crying, right?” he asks.

Peter blinks on his next laugh, and Tony’s right: fresh, hot tears come down. “No, you’re crying,” he says, idiotically. His hands brush away the tears. “I’m  _ good, _ ” and the word slices down the middle like a crack in the sidewalk, like lightning ripping through the sky from Thor’s hammer. 

The word hangs in the air, shuddering and shivering until it dissipates into nothingness. 

And the nothingness feels like a deep absence, cold and dark, reaching far into him. It’s so far-reaching that he can’t see the light on the outside. It’s like a tar, or maybe quicksand, and with every passing moment, Peter can feel himself being pulled further into it. 

“Anyway,” he hears himself say emphatically—because it isn’t truly him speaking anymore, is it? It’s a ghost of himself, a hollowed-out husk that trudges on through the darkness. He’s a plane on autopilot, with no flyer in sight—”I should go do my homework. You know how Calc is. Haha.”

“Peter,” Tony says, the word tilting down at the end, like he knows it’s a lost cause. That Peter’s a lost cause. 

Peter turns around, walking backwards towards his room so he can face Pepper and Tony as he says, “I’ll see you guys later, though.”

He can’t look them in the eyes.

It’s minutes later when he hears it from across the room, through the door, and down the hall in the living room: the soft argument between Pepper and Tony.

“Talk to him, damn it!” That’s Pepper, voice just a whisper but still heavy with decision.

“He wants some time to himself, Pep,” Tony says. He’s quiet for a second, maybe sighing, before he continues, “He just saw—”

“I know what he saw.”

Peter swallows to rid himself of the nauseated feeling creeping into his throat. What the news was saying earlier… He shakes his head, as though the thought will fall out of his ears with it. It doesn’t: he’s still thinking about—he shakes his head again. 

“Tony,” Pepper starts again, “you understand best what he’s going through. If you—"

“I have no idea what he’s going through. Not sure if you noticed, but I’m kind of an asshole.”

“If you just go talk to him—”

“He doesn’t want to talk!”

“You don’t know that!”

“He went to his room. He’s probably crying in there, and I doubt he wants an audience.”

Peter wipes away his tears. 

“So tell him it’s okay, then! You know how he sees you. What’s this really about?”

Peter straightens up, curious, then immediately slouches back down, ashamed of his snooping. He should really—

“I don’t want to be like my shit dad,” Tony says, after a moment. “You know I’m not great with these things. I’ll fuck it up.”

“Honey,” Pepper says, sugar pouring into her voice, “you won’t fuck it up.” Then, back to business: “Now, get in there!”

He hears Tony laugh, and Peter laughs with him for a moment before he realizes what he’s doing. 

“Alright, alright,” Tony says, and his voice is getting closer. 

Sniffling, Peter adjusts himself where he’s sitting against the wall and uses the back of his hand to wipe away the rest of his tears, blinking in a vain hope to get rid of the redness of his eyes. He thinks it probably doesn’t work.

When he gets to the door, Tony raps on it three times, with what sounds like just one knuckle. “Hey, kid,” he says, “how ya doin’ in there?”

“Fine,” Peter says, short only to hide the hoarseness in his throat.

“Okay. Is it cool if I come in?”

It takes a second for Peter to respond, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Yeah.” He nods, even though Tony can’t see it. “Sure.”

The door opens smoothly, hinges oiled to silence, and for a moment, Peter and Tony just look at each other from across the room, Tony’s face blank and Peter’s—probably looking like a mess, to be honest.

Tony’s mouth stretches into a smile, a strained, wavery thing. “All the thousand-dollar chairs in this place, yet you chose the floor.”

Peter sends his desk-chair a look, feeling the barest hint of a smirk pulling on his face. “That’s not actually a thousand-dollar chair, right?”

Tony waves a hand, going, “Ehhhh…”

Peter huffs a laugh, no energy to actually try to process that one.

Tony enters the room the rest of the way, letting the door swing to just cracked as he steps across the room, ultimately sitting down on the chair of questionable cost.

“I’d join you on the floor, but I’m old,” he explains.

“You’re not  _ that  _ old,” Peter says, even though he heard Tony’s knees crack when he sat down.

Tony snorts a laugh, just shaking his head in response.

They’re quiet for a couple of seconds, Tony’s eyes focused on a spot on the table while Peter frowns, half-formed sentences sliding around in his head as he tries to come up with something to say.

Saving him, Tony looks at him and says, “About earlier…”

“I really am fine,” Peter interjects.

Tony looks at him for a moment, and they make eye-contact. “You know it’s okay to not be fine, right?”

Peter blinks. He looks away. 

“Tony,” he starts, and he looks back over to gauge Tony’s reaction, “I’m in high school during the day and a superhero at night. I can’t afford to not be fine.”

With a sigh, Tony nods, sympathetic smile playing on his lips. “I get that. You know, it’s not all glitz and glamour at the top. It gets difficult trying to uphold the image.” His smile turns to a smirk as he says, “You know I’ve always struggled with that.”

Peter thinks about all the stories he’s read online of Tony’s party days back in his twenties and thirties and allows a small smirk back. 

“You’re right,” Peter says. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good job missing the point, kid.”

Peter tilts his head.

Tony continues, “I’m not saying you can’t feel stressed. I think anyone would, in your position. What I’m saying is…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What I’m saying is that you’re not on your own. Your Aunt May’s here, I’m here—and I get you, kid. What’s that thing you say? ‘I get your feel.’”

God, Tony is so genuine as he says it.

Any other time, in any other mood, Peter would have laughed at him. Instead, he nods, saying, “Thanks, Tony.”

He looks away, focusing on a spot on the ground and just breathing for a couple of moments. 

Eventually, Tony says, “So… Not sure if you knew, but this is the part where you start talking about it.”

Peter snorts a humorless laugh. He feels tears gathering in his eyes again.

“You want me to talk?” he asks. His eyes flash back to Tony. Voice gaining strength, tone gaining heat, he continues, “You want me to spill my guts over how I’m feeling? Well, here it is: bad. I’m feeling pretty—pretty damn bad. It wasn’t enough that the guy killed my uncle. No, now he had to go and kill a little kid, too. And you know what? It’s my fucking fault, okay? I’m the one who let him get away. I’m the one who couldn’t track him down. All of this could have been prevented if I’d just been less—” 

He cuts himself off with a sob. The air leaves his lungs, and the fire leaves his eyes. 

“Me,” he finishes. “If I’d just been less me.”

There’s silence between them, a silence that’s thick and foggy and leaves Peter numb all over. He wipes at his nose with one sleeve, drying his tears with the other. 

Tony reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a dark purple handkerchief and holding it out between them. 

Peter just looks at it for a moment before reaching out to accept it. 

It’s just an inch from Peter’s nose when Peter thinks to ask, “This thing isn’t ridiculously expensive, is it?”

Shaking his head, Tony waves a hand, saying, “No, it’s worthless.”

Peter starts blowing his nose.

“To me, anyway.”

He looks up, noticing the grin on Tony’s face. Peter rolls his eyes. 

“You know, you probably could have fed a bunch of kids with this instead.”

“If you’d like to mail it to them, go right ahead.”

Peter huffs a short laugh at that. He folds up the handkerchief, holding it on his lap.

“Are you done?”

Peter looks down at the handkerchief.

Tony corrects, “No, I mean: can I talk?”

With a swallow and a nod, Peter says, “Yeah, go for it.”  _ Sorry for talking at you, _ he resists saying, even though he’d like to.

“Cool. So, here’s a counterpoint: catching that guy is not your job.”

When he opens his mouth to interject, Tony holds up a finger.

“Up-up! No, my turn. It is not your job to stop criminals. End of conversation.”

“But—”

“No. Peter.” Tony sits straight, hands holding the sides of his chair. “It is not your job. That’s up to the police. You do good work, but that’s just—it’s just a choice. Not a necessity. You see what I’m saying?”

While he wants to debate the wording, Peter sees Tony’s point. He hums, thinking for a moment. “I can’t help feeling responsible for what I can’t do,” he says finally.

“And that’s not a bad thing. Not inherently, anyway.” Tony leans down, elbow resting on his knee and hand holding up his chin. “It just means you care a lot. The issue is when you don’t take care of yourself.”

Peter’s face twitches. “I take care of myself.”

Tony gives him a fond look. 

Peter can’t help his laugh. He feels a smile forming on his face. “I totally do!”

Singing, Tony says, “If you say so.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter mumbles again, “I totally do.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony asks, straightening back up. There’s a spark in his eyes as he says, “Prove it.”

This time Peter’s laugh is even more normal, even more bright. “I see what you’re doing,” he says.

“And it’s totally working.”

Peter laughs again. “It might be. It depends: do we have popcorn?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And Root Beer?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And  _ Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back _ ?”

“You already know we do.”

Peter nods. His smile softens. “Hey, Tony?” he says.

Tony tilts his head.

“Thank you.”

Tony smiles back. “Anytime, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't resist the pull of sweet, sweet Irondad. Title is from a Led Zeppelin song. I'm going through an old school rock phase, so don't be surprised if I start titling more stuff like this. It's better than half the titles I come up with on my own--LOL. Hope you guys enjoyed :)


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